It Occurs to Me: Remembering the Bruckless drownings

Saint Aodh MacBricne's monastery on Sliabh Liag dates from the sixth century and was famous for his ability to cure headaches.

On the mountaintop are the remains of his church, holy well and cairns of stones connected with his station. “After a night in Tom’s or the Rusty” an old Teelin friend once laughed, “...there was many’s the prayer to the Saint for Sore heads!”

The holy well, Tobar na mBan Naofa (the Well of the Holy Woman) in Rannakillew with its surrounding structures is probably slightly later than MacBricne’s and later still is the ruined church on the pier at Teelin Point. The church is built partly of water-rolled boulders reminiscent of the round tower on Tory. Tobar na mBan Naofa is dedicated to three nuns named after the Christian virtues of tuigse, (understanding) ciall, (sense) and naire, (modesty).

A turas or pilgrimage is still made to it on bonfire night, the eve of the feast of St John. In bygone days the pilgrims sat up until daylight praying all night at the well and keeping a bonfire alight. Fishing fleets sailing out of Teelin bay traditionally lowered their sails in salute on passing Tobar na mBan Naofa. Tobar na Corrach, or the Well of the Fair Winds, is nearby and during a storm at sea, it was believed that by cleaning and respecting this holy water, favourable winds would speed the fishing fleets home safely.

Unfortunately, their prayers were not answered on the 12th and 13th of February 1813, when hundreds of fishermen set sail from Teelin to join the hundreds from Mullaghmore to St John’s Point to fish the swelling numbers of herring in Donegal Bay.

They were met by a raging storm. I was unaware of this tragedy - between 300 and 500 drowned - until Joe Gallagher of Teelin corresponded with me almost 20 years ago. Joe is a diligent and fascinating historian, the Bavin Evictions being another thesis of his dedicated local research. As Joe reminds us…
“There is confusion about the date of the Bruckless Disaster" but according to historian Aidan Manning, there were many fishing disasters along our coastline and this may have led to the confusion about the date. “The late Conal (Dorby) McShane of Teelin had a good account of the Drownings”, according to Joe. Conal was our local postman and I remember him with great affection.

A morning of memories at Finn Valley AC Remembrance Run

Creeslough victims and Ukraine war dead remembered at road race with hundreds of locals leaving messages on the Remembrance Wall

In any event, Joe heard Conall say "there were 90 widows on both sides of Teelin Bay because of the drownings”.

Joe Gallagher’s cousin, Kevin Haughey from Roxboro in Kilcar, did some research in the old Churchtown graveyard… “and sure enough we found two gravestones (slabs) side by side with age and date of death. The writing is still very clear but they were a little overgrown and I cleaned them a little and took photos which I will attach.

The inscriptions are as follows: “Here the body of Connel Cammil who departed this life February the 11, 1813 aged 27 years”', and also 'Here lieth the body of James Cambel who departed this life February the 11 1813 aged 32 years”. Note the different spellings of the surname - probably different stonemasons involved.
Given that they both died on the same day, I think we can assume that they both met their maker in Bruckless Bay. It may also help to give a more definitive date for the drowning.”
In 2014, in the company of my cousins, local fiddlers Aidan and Kevin O'Donnell, I visited the memorial erected in 2013 and the brothers played a poignant version of the haunting Bruckless Drownings.

Memories of Thomas Cunningham and Teelin

The last time I frequented The Rusty Mackerel was a few months ago.

I sat beside an old friend and great musician, Sean Con Johnny, along with my sister Bernie, cousins Carmel and Pascal Byrne, and it was a night of super music and craic.

Thomas Cunningham came over to say hello and we had a brief chat, so I was shocked and saddened to hear of his death last week.

Thomas was a damn good musician too, a very gentle person and much loved in the locality. He, in common with his siblings, must have been very proud in 2018, to see their mother, singer and lilter Cití Sheáin, honoured in a TG4 documentary.

Back in the day, Tom Carr’s in Carrick was the favourite haunt of the Teelin men and women, and I often went there with my late father, who enjoyed Tom’s acerbic wit and the Teelin banter. Sean Con Johnny, Thomas Cunningham and Paddy ‘Ringo’ Cunningham were just some of the wonderful musicians who frequented there and one particular night, the Teelin contingent was increasing in numbers as usual but tables were scarce because two of them were occupied by seven or eight hikers nursing a bottle of Harp per table. “Do any of you Germans speak English?”, asks Tom.
One chap smiled and replied: “I do, yes, but we are Swiss.” “Better still”, says Tom, “a very law-abiding people. We have laws too, and one of them demands that all customers consume at least a couple of pints every hour, or you can be prosecuted for underconsumption - isn't that right, Guard?” And he looked straight at my father who nearly fell off the stool in convulsions.

Singer and lilter Cití Sheáin

It was in Tom’s that we first heard of the dance away back in the 1950's that one buck said he would much rather forget. He had noticed a new trend creeping in where men with slicked back hair seemed to elicit much better responses from the more snottery class of women, than those - like himself - whose hair resembled the rear end of a ewe just sheared by a man late for his tea.

To exacerbate matters, he had noticed his own usually shy brother starting to throw shapes in the wee dancehall on the Teelin Road, with a head on him that you could comfortably fry three cod, two large chips and a portion of onion rings in. When he enquired of the brother about the source of this magical gel, he was told abruptly to buy his own. With barely the price of the dance, our friend hadn't tuppence to be heading to Carrick or Kilcar to buy what passed for brilliantine or hair oil.

One night, when the brother had headed off to the hall, his head shining like the moon over Slieve League, your man went rooting around the house until he saw the magic bottle. He dosed the 'ceann' liberally, and headed off like Errol Flynn to seduce the local female populace. . Not only did he fail abjectly to get a dance, but to his horror, men and women seemed to give him a wide berth all night. The following morning, as he made his lonely way down to the WC, a cold wooden seat in the converted henhouse, the brother shouted after him: "Give that place a good scoureen when you're finished. There's new stuff out now...I've used it on the po’s...it's called Jeyes Fluid, there's a bottle of it here somewhere." The hair rose on him!